That's Nacho Cheese
by GideonGraystairs
Summary: "What are you doing?" he questioned, silently praying she'd just wanted to try cooking and didn't actually expect them to eat any of it. "I'm making dinner! Doesn't it look great?" Oh, God. No.


**Hey look I did a new ship again what is this madness when did I start writing more than just Malec and Heronstairs. Also haha I haven't slept in ten years it's hilarious howamistillalive haha so funny :)**

 **Requested by Anonymous: Jemma •nachos**

 **(I'm pretty sure you meant Blackstairs?)**

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The smell of burning food was what greeted Julian as he entered the Institute. He frowned when it hit him halfway through unlacing his boots, carefully placing the footwear by the door before he went to investigate. He could hear someone banging around in the kitchen, loud music he assumed to be some kind of pop pouring out above it all, and to be honest he was vaguely concerned Tavvy had finally decided to make good on his promise (threat) to cook them all dinner one day.

As it turned out, Octavian was _not_ the one making them a nice pile of ashes to feast on.

"Emma?" he called out warily, stepping into the kitchen with more than a little hesitation. His _parabatai_ spun to face him at the sound of her name, a bright grin on her face and a block of cheese in hand.

"Jules!" she exclaimed excitedly, waving an arm to beckon him further into her lair. He followed slowly, eyes flitting about the crime scene perceptively from the scorched plate of what was probably chips once upon a time to the puke green dish of what he assumed was meant to be guacamole. He swallowed, reminding himself she would be very insulted if he threw up right now.

"What are you doing?" he questioned, silently praying she'd just wanted to try cooking and didn't actually expect them to eat any of it.

"I'm making dinner! Doesn't it look great?"

Oh, God. _No_.

"I, uh," he started awkwardly, glancing around yet again. The oven was on and radiating the smell of something awful throughout the room and there was evidence of a struggle near the half-grated cheese, as though someone had physically tried to stop the woman from butchering it any more. Julian swallowed. "Yeah, Emma. It looks… delicious."

His _parabatai_ beamed in response before a look of realization crossed her face. "The nachos!" she cried, making a dive for the stove. Julian watched as a series of ninja like encounters enfolded involving the oven mitts, the steaming plate of embers and the oven door, silently wondering whether she'd notice if he 'accidentally' knocked the first plate of supposed onto the ground.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, though, Emma turned around with a frown on her face and set the second plate beside the first, no doubt burning an imprint into the counter below. Deciding she'd know he'd done it on purpose, Jules settled for giving her what he hoped came off as an encouraging smile and reaching over to take the mitts from her grasp.

"Do you want any help?"

Emma smiled back at him, tucking a strand of messy blond hair behind her ear. "You can set the table if you want."

He almost pressed to be given a task that might allow him to salvage some sort of edible meal, but decided against it when he saw the furrowed concentration painted across her face. Instead, he smiled thinly again and moved to grab some plates to place on the table.

Halfway through the job, he heard the stairs creaking under light weight and Ty moped his way into the dining room. The younger boy wiped at his tired eyes, probably exhausted from immersing himself into whatever topic had caught his fancy most recently, and glanced around the room with a frown.

"Emma's making dinner," Julian supplied, holding up the plate in his hands. His brother's expression shifted to something else he wasn't entirely sure how to discern and he threw his head up to groan.

" _Still?_ " he asked, sounding incredibly disappointed. Jules frowned.

"What do you mean, _still?_ "

Ty moved further into the room, shuffling tired feet with an irritated expression stretched across his furrowed features. "I tried to make her stop when it caught fire, but I guess she didn't listen."

"It caught _fire?_ " Jules demanded, setting down the plate in his hands a little harder than strictly necessary. Obviously he knew she'd charred the nachos to a crisp, but actually setting something on freaking fire was a different matter. And well, shit, he probably shouldn't have left her alone in there.

"Hang on," he tossed to the now very disinterested teenager across the room and made a dart for the kitchen, throwing the door open almost too violently. "Emma," he laughed nervously, stepping forward to gently pry the cheese grater out of her hands. "Sweetheart. I think you've made enough."

The girl in question narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, glaring hard when he set the grater back down a few feet away from her. Jules smiled innocently, meeting her smoldering gaze with one of his own.

She blinked, apparently snapping out of some sort of trance, and flicked her eyes down briefly before biting her lip and shaking her head. He tried not to frown at the display, wondering what on earth she was thinking but also glad she hadn't said anything about his attempts to stop her cooking. He watched as Emma frowned down at the cheese still in her hands like she had no idea what she'd been doing with it before setting it down and moving out of Julian's invasion of personal space.

"We should…" she trailed off, sounding almost dazed, and then cleared her throat and tried again. "We should call everyone down to eat."

Jules sucked in a deep breath, bracing himself for her reaction as he questioned slowly, "Do you think maybe we could order some takeout instead?" Whirling back around to face him, Emma's eyes turned into daggers ready to shred him apart and he quickly found himself adding, "Ty's lactose intolerant."

Her expression cleared with understanding and he almost felt bad for the lie, but the guilt disappeared the moment she offered to call The Red Dragon and order for them all. Lying to her was better than having to swallow down whatever she thought she'd succeeded in making.

He smiled at her when he hung up the phone and silently thanked God he wasn't going to die tonight. Though, he did have a feeling he might never be able to eat nachos again, no matter who made them.

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 **This was surprisingly easy. I used to be like "I want to write a different ship! I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna- yeah um no idk how to do this nevermind."**

 **Go check out my writing blog taitewrites(.tumblr).com bc there's this cool drabble collection called 146 Things To Do Besides Self-Harm (/tagged/146things) there and I'm proud *hands skittles***

 **Reviews are catnip and I am a tiger. Hear me rawr.**


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